Home
by Cassie Jamie
Summary: He was home, back from the place that had stolen him for seven months. [Slash]
1. Home

**Pairing:** McKay/Sheppard  
**Notes:** Erm, yeah. About 4200+ words, no porn.

* * *

When Rodney had stepped through the Stargate seven months after leaving, John thought his head was playing tricks again. Like when he'd sworn Rodney was sitting in his lab and it had only been a shadow. Or the time John had been flying the Jumper to the mainland and thought Rodney had called him back to the city. Elizabeth had grounded him for a week out of concern after that particular incident. 

It was only after the first four months had passed that John had accepted that Rodney was not going to come back. That he was not responsible for Rodney's death and it was okay to go on with his life even if it were devoid of his lover. Kate had talked him through a few of the rougher days – their anniversary, Rodney's birthday, the fifth anniversary of their arrival in Atlantis – and Carson had gotten him through some nights. John had found himself gradually falling for the doctor, though his heart still screamed for Rodney.

But as the man, grimy and thinner and covered in scabs, stood in the middle of the room, John felt a flood of emotion. A spectrum ending in worry at the sight of Rodney's knees buckling and he flew down the stairs just in time to catch Rodney before he hit the ground.

"John." Rodney whispered when John got both arms around him, head lolling onto John's shoulder and John could feel Rodney's eyelashes on his neck. He wondered if anyone would think him crazy for knowing there were fewer lashes there than before and Rodney's hair was thinner too.

"It's okay, baby." Rodney hated nicknames, but John let it slip through. He couldn't bring himself to care; he was holding onto a living miracle and John didn't want Carson to take him away, "You're home, baby. You're home."

There was wetness on his neck then, John knew his lover was crying. Whatever Rodney had endured had broken him just enough because Rodney never let anyone see him cry. Yet there he was, holding onto John to keep himself upright and sobbing. The wails were muffled by John's jacket and everyone stood still.

Carson had one hand on Rodney's back, rubbing as he looked at John and nodded. He'd known they were not really anything more than friends with benefits. John had needed someone to help him heal and that was fine with Carson because Radek had been dropping hints for weeks.

John belonged with Rodney and vice versa, though they had always been a curious pair.

"Home." Rodney sobbed out, "Homehomehomehomehome." He was burning all his energy just standing despite John taking most of his weight, and he began to sag down. Gently, John eased Rodney onto the gurney, bent at an awkward position since Rodney refused to release him, and in the end, Carson shoved John onto the gurney as well. They lay on their sides as they were brought through the hallways, John rubbing the cold from his lover.

By the time they reached the infirmary, Rodney had either fallen unconscious or gone to sleep. John crept out of the bed, Carson took over and hours later, John was allowed to go to him.

Rodney was wired like a Christmas tree. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, IVs from both hands, a catheter, and nasal canula. Another tube was dropped down his nose and John winced – Rodney had always said he'd rather die than have an NG tube, reciting a story from his college years when he'd been stupid and crashed his car.

John took his lover's hand and smiled. Carson had warned that Rodney would be weak and sleeping for several days, the consequence of malnutrition and torture, but John had figured that. He brushed a few stray hairs from Rodney's face and no doubt the long matted mop would be cut down to something manageable when Rodney was better.

"I missed you." John whispered, leaning closer so his head could rest on the pillow, "I'm so glad you're home."

Rodney's hand twitched around his. Carson would probably call it involuntary movement, but John simply nuzzled Rodney's cheek, "I love you." His hand was squeezed again and John settled into the chair for the night, stroking Rodney's knuckles.

Elizabeth and Carson watched, looked over at one another, and disappeared into his office. Each settled into a chair before Elizabeth spoke, "I just can't believe that it's him." But the DNA test had proven it – Rodney McKay was within Atlantis' walls once again, safe and sound.

There had already been murmurs of people saying they wanted blood in Rodney's name. The expedition members wanted retribution for what had happened to one of their own, though they didn't really know the extent of his injuries. If they did, Elizabeth shuddered to think of what her people could do. The gate symbols that had shown when Rodney came through were already on the city's messaging system.

"Did you tell John all of it?" She asked Carson when their conversation broke into silence.

He nodded, "I did. The broken ribs, the bruises, the cuts, the burns, all of it. He didn't even bat an eye at it all."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. When everything had settled and Rodney was well, she could only imagine the fight she was going to get. Carson had explained the various injuries to her, telling Weir all the things that they could have been caused by. The burns were electrical, the kind he'd only seen once before when Bates' team had been captured and tortured the old fashioned way. The bruises shaped like fingers and long thin lines like he'd been beaten with pipe or branches.

"You think he'll be okay?"

"Yes." Carson didn't even hesitate, "They both will." He glanced through the glass wall at Rodney's bed, unsurprised to find John had crawled in beside Rodney. The two were sleeping soundly with John's arm draped over Rodney's middle.

The nurses were ordered to not disturb them unless absolutely necessary, though Radek and Teyla managed to get in somehow. Carson chased them out after a few minutes, winking at Radek as the door closed and when he turned back, John was yawning. He looked guiltily at Carson for a minute then back at Rodney.

"John." Carson walked over, getting an extra blanket and draping it over his friend, "I'm not angry, lad. I knew what we were and that's alright."

"You're sure?" John stared at him, dubious.

"Quite." He smirked, patting John's shoulders and waited until John was asleep before checking Rodney's bandages. A few of the larger wounds had to be reopened and cleaned out, something which had been immensely painful though Rodney did not utter a word. He'd laid there, half awake, as the med team had removed debris. It still concerned Carson that Rodney hadn't even flinched.

Rodney had fallen asleep as soon as the pain meds hit his system and Kate had asked to be called when he woke. She had told Carson that it was no surprise he'd not cried out at the treatment – he'd been conditioned to not show weakness. At least, that's what she believed for the moment. Without talking to Rodney, she couldn't say anything with certainty except that it was very likely he was experiencing PTSD.

Carson was in the middle of changing the bandage on Rodney's lower back when the man came awake, jerking away and stifling a cry. John was up in an instant, soothing him, "It's just Carson. It's okay. Shhh." His hands stroked over Rodney's sides, through his hair, rubbed his cheek. It took several minutes, but Rodney relaxed, curling closer to John with some effort.

"Carson?" Rodney whispered. His voice sounded sore, like the very action of speaking hurt. Carson quickly finished up his work, securing the bandage and scurrying off to locate some ice chips. It took only a minute and he returned, helping Rodney to his back once again.

As John fed him the ice, Carson smiled, "How're you feeling?"

He raised one hand, waving it in a so-so motion, "My head hurts." Rodney hesitated, looking at John and then Carson uneasily. He seemed to be weighing their expressions and it broke Carson's heart – his best friend wasn't sure if he could trust them, if he should be scared of them.

"Do you want the Colonel to leave for a minute?" Carson asked, knowing John was likely a little annoyed but Beckett would rather deal with John's attitude than let Rodney linger in pain.

"No." Rodney breathed and he struggled for words. He finally closed his eyes, his decision made, "The catheter. It hurts a lot." Rodney stared at Carson who nodded and began his work, looking over Rodney though he did not warn either of the men when he lifted Rodney's gown, "Hey!"

"Sorry." It was muttered but Carson didn't sound at all apologetic. He looked it over, aware that Rodney's face was the reddest it'd ever been. Carson worked quickly, wanting to lessen the strain on Rodney, though he was agitated to discover one of the nurses had used the wrong size tube for the catheter. It was slightly larger and it was no wonder that Rodney was in pain from it. He changed it out with practiced easy, inserting another, and pulling the gown back over Rodney's groin.

Relaxing as the pain disappearing from both his head and lower body, Rodney held out his tongue. His throat was not really sore anymore, but it meant John petted his arm each time he fed Rodney the ice and Rodney had missed that touch. He'd hoped when he got back to Atlantis that they could continue on, though Rodney knew it was likely a pipedream.

Carson nodded at his friends, then he walked away to give them some privacy. He closed the curtain as he went, intending to hold off on calling Kate for as long as he could reasonably but the minute the curtain was shut, Rodney screamed. He struggled against his blanket and John was calling his name, clutching one of Rodney's arms.

"John! Let him go!" Carson ordered.

Sheppard dropped the appendage, backing away with his hands held out. Rodney slowly calmed and John looked guiltily at him, "I didn't..."

Shaking his head, Carson soothed, "It wasn't your fault." He knew John was aware of what flashbacks were, having suffered through them a few years earlier, but it was going to take a minute for John to let his military training take over.

"John." Rodney whispered and reached out, blindly searching for John's hand as his eyes were closed. Once their hands were twinned again, Rodney whispered, "I'm sorry." His voice filled with guilt.

"It's not your fault." John replied. He bent over and leaned against the bed, "Gonna be like that for a while."

"I know." Rodney did not look happy; he didn't like the idea of being plagued by the demons he'd left behind on that sad excuse for a planet, "Don't have to be okay with it. Carson." He looked at his best friend, "I want to go home."

Beckett sighed, though happily. If Rodney was going to begin his bid to get back to quarters, then he was feeling decent. "Soon. Overnight for observation and another for Kate, and John can take you away." Carson noted the annoyed look and stated, "I promise I will not keep you longer than that."

"Why Heightmeyer? I'm fine."

The looks he got back were skeptical. Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, his displeasure clear but John leaned over to kiss the side of his head and his frown turned to a small smile. Carson took the moment to once again disappear and this time he did call Kate. He told her of the event and Rodney's reactions to other things, his aversion to staying in the infirmary for too long.

She appeared minutes later and dove in head first. Kate spoke with Rodney at length, not letting him push her away and kept on him for some things. He stated several times that he would be fine, that he just wanted to get home, and yes, they'd beaten him, but he'd gotten through it.

John stood by and listened to it all, his chest a little tighter when he realized what Rodney had endured. The old jokes about courage and heroism came back in an instant; any person who dared utter an ill word about Rodney was going to become very well acquainted with John's foot, he decided.

Kate ended it with a statement that Rodney had PTSD.

"Well, that was hard to figure out." Rodney shot back, though he didn't say it with his usual venom. As she walked out of the room, he closed his eyes and John held his hand tighter, "It wasn't your fault, you know."

John shrugged, "I shouldn't have assumed you were behind me." He recalled the fated mission, running like the wind back to the gate with Teyla and Stackhouse ahead of him. John had believed his lover to be taking up the rear but after they'd stumbled out of the wormhole, Rodney never followed.

"They were aiming bullets at _your_ head. Not mine or Teyla's or Stackhouse's. They were trying to kill _you_, John. You did what was best. You'd done anything to help me and you'd be dead and I wouldn't have had a reason to even try to escape." Rodney was glaring, but his fingers were brushing against John's.

The air was thick between them, filled with guilt and resolution, and John told him, "Go to sleep. We can work this out tomorrow."

Rodney shook his head, "No. I've spent too long keeping my eyes shut and my head down. Talk to me." He did rest against the bed comfortably and John understood that learning to survive had stolen something from Rodney that Rodney wanted back.

"Well, Robert and Elizabeth just told everyone that she's pregnant. Don't know if it's a boy or a girl both really excited." He gossiped, patting Rodney's hair and tucking the blanket's edge around Rodney's shoulder, "Ford's heart has been giving him some trouble but Carson says it'll clear itself up soon. Those geeks of yours fixed him up with a new wheelchair about a month ago. Teyla was happy that she didn't have to drop everything to bring him somewhere anymore."

John told him all about the other major events Rodney had missed in his absence. A few births among the five hundred person population, most of which were new people sent from Earth by way of the Daedalus before the ship was attacked by Wraith. Most of those aboard had survived, though they weren't all happy about being stranded. They did adjust after a while, but the ones who didn't met with Kate frequently.

Earth knew of the Daedalus' destruction from a compressed data burst. They'd sent back one of their own with a promise that they'd keep trying different methods to establish regular contact. Elizabeth was skeptical that it could be done without a ZPM but no one else said anything about it.

The conversation went on, tidbits of information about tech they'd found and people they'd met.

By the time John finished speaking, Rodney had been asleep for a few minutes. He leaned over and kissed the long hair, then settled into the chair Carson had thoughtfully placed within a few inches of Rodney's bed. It was not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but that wasn't going to deter John from sitting in it.

He closed his own eyes and was in his dreamland a moment later; when Carson woke him the next morning, it seemed like only a few seconds had passed rather than ten hours. The crash following his emotional rush of having his lover back had drained him and Carson smirked at him, "Run along. Shower, eat. Kate and I agreed that we might just release him in a bit if his attitude remains the same. Rough road ahead of him, surely, but you're just as able to take care of him then us."

John's smile was bright as he wandered out of the infirmary. He found himself in the mess, friends around him and making sure he ate the fresh fish the cooks had prepared for their dinner. It tasted faintly of citrus and he knew he'd have to speak with the mess staff soon about preparing food for Rodney. No one else in the city had that particular allergy and lately there'd been many meals prepared with the fresh citrus fruits Bates' team had brought back a few weeks before.

"How is Dr. McKay?" Teyla asked him after he'd swallowed. She was leaning forward just a little and Ford was staring as well. Aiden and Rodney had grown close after the younger man was rescued and treated by Beckett. Without the use of his legs, a sideaffect of removing the virus from his system which no one foresaw, Ford had been less than happy and bit off heads left and right.

Rodney was the only one who never let Ford get away with it. He always had a sharp retort like he did for everyone else, and if Aiden began to gripe about what he'd lost, Rodney would shout back that he was alive. Only him and no one else from the group.

"He's alright. Rodney's tired, hungry, and grouchy, but he had a flashback while we were there so you know...be nice to him." John replied. He stuffed another forkful of the fish in his mouth and listened to Ford talk for a minute, offering to stay with Rodney when he was in the Lab.

John nodded. Flashbacks weren't really predictable even though there were usually triggers; Rodney might react to the sound of metal on metal like they were bars of a cell closing but he might also react to the sight of something or the way someone was standing in relation to him. It would be good to have someone around to keep an eye on him.

Eventually he left the mess behind, the gossip line up and running and John went to his quarters. The room was generally messy, though Rodney would take care of that quickly. Despite his normally well-honed ability to make everything a pigsty, Rodney had become something of a neatnik when he and John moved in together. Rodney couldn't explain it and John just got used to walking in and having to put his dirty clothes in a hamper instead of on the floor.

After Rodney had gone, though, he'd not felt the need to keep up the place. Books were wherever he so chose to leave them, clothing to be washed was piled in a corner, and when he peeked into the bedroom, the bed was expectedly in disarray. The bathroom was no better with used towels slung across a shelf and six half used bars of soap on the sink.

He winced as he got to work, cleaning the entire room from top to bottom. It wasn't an easy task – they'd found Rodney's one bedroom with an ocean view once Elizabeth decided to give people the option to spread out in the city. Some had stayed close to the command center, like Weir who liked her five minute walk or thirty second run. Most had moved outward, staying close to the transporters. The East Pier had been a popular place and several of the couples and families had moved out to there. Next best places had been rooms near the labs for the scientists and near the training facilities for the military.

John and Rodney, however, had found their quarters not too far from the Jumper bay. They were steps away from the transporter, and their balcony was the only one on that level. No one else had chosen that far up, so they enjoyed the peace and quiet. Rodney had taken one particular set of quarters and wired it to be his private office.

Setting the bed to rights with clean sheets, he wondered if he should hide the lube in their normal place but he quickly decided that he was being a dick. Rodney had just come back from a planet where he was beaten and forced into hard labor, they locked him in a cell at night and gave him little to eat or drink, and all John could think about was sex.

He sighed as he stepped into the shower. He remembered how he'd felt each night when he'd lay awake in Rodney's arms, trying to sleep but failing. How he'd felt like he were letting Rodney down by not wanting to make love.

God, the argument they'd had. In Kate's office no less, and they'd slept in separate rooms that night. The next morning, John found Rodney and they'd sat in his office, talking in whispers because anything louder would have woken the demons in John's mind.

He dressed slowly, choosing his most comfortable clothes – the worn chinos, a shirt of pale blue with a black hoodie. The teams had traded for cloth over the years and new clothes were always being made. A clothing swap had been created so what didn't fit one person could be given to a person it would, reduce, reuse, recycle and all that jazz.

John clung to the items from Earth. He'd given up hope of ever returning to the planet when they'd arrived there, and he'd given up ever wanting to when he and Rodney got together, but there was something he had always enjoyed about a good pair of jeans or a nice shirt. Not the newer, looser clothes that had been made.

He slid his boots on and tied them, his sneakers having fallen apart long ago and he'd never thought to have them replaced until after the Daedalus was destroyed. He did have the comfortable sandals made for him by one of the Athosians, but he preferred wearing them during the summer months when the city was just a touch warmer.

John was back in the infirmary three hours after he'd left, Rodney awake and alert as he talked to Kate. He immediately ignored her once he saw John, "Let's go." He grinned.

Mouthing the words, 'I'm sorry' to Kate, he told Rodney, "First you have to finish up here and I'll go talk to Carson. Make sure everything's set." He walked away then. John hoped Carson wouldn't be hard to find but the doctor seemed to have disappeared, until John rapped on the door to his lab. It opened and Carson stood there, bent over whatever it was that he was studying.

"Wraith body part, virus, or other?" He asked, amused.

"Right now, Other." Carson didn't even look up from the microscope, "Though my research is not what brought you here." Blue eyes met his and Carson smirked, "When Kate's done with him, he's free to go."

"Thanks."

John had turned to go, but Carson spoke again, "John, if you need to talk..." He trailed off. Though Rodney was the one who'd been diagnosed with PTSD, John had his own diagnosis of the same disorder that could be triggered as well. Carson worried for both men, "Kate or I are here." He finished.

"I know." John smiled, waved, and walked back into the main section of the infirmary. Rodney was standing at the end of his bed, dressed in the usual maroon scrubs. Heightmeyer was still in her seat with a wide smile as she made notions into her laptop.

"Let's go." Rodney moved toward the door without so much as a goodbye to the woman and John was just a step behind him. They took the long way, the one with the corridors few people took so Rodney could avoid being seen by others. Luckily, only one saw them – Radek, who said he'd not tell any others that he'd been released.

Safely ensconced in their quarters twenty minutes later, Rodney immediately went to the bathroom and stripped down, "You coming?" He asked as he undid all of his bandages.

"You're not supposed to take those off." John moved into the room and started rewrapping the carefully done stitching, checking the wounds to ensure that, yes, they really were healing. A finger strayed to one before the gauze obscured it, lightly tracing over the long black line of the thread on Rodney's forearm. It was different than the others, pronounced and perfect as it intersected with the scar of the Storm, "This was on purpose." John whispered with the realization.

"They wanted to know where you'd gone. I wouldn't tell them."

Rodney's eyes met John's and didn't look away. All the truth and revelations were in them for John to see, his hand dropped the bandage he'd been holding and moved to Rodney's cheek. He wanted to say something but nothing seemed adequate, so they sat in the silence and regarded each other with some thought.

Then Rodney moved forward and they were on the tiled floor, John's back against the shower wall with Rodney in his arms. They kissed and kissed again, the idea of sex far from their minds but needing the comfort of knowing that they were together.

When they stopped between kisses, John stumbled through the three words Rodney wanted to hear, "I, uh, missed you."

And Rodney smiled genuinely before laying his head onto his lover's shoulder.


	2. The Night

**Pairing:** McKay/Sheppard  
**Notes:** What Rodney endured. (Prequel to _Home_.) There's mentions of beatings, no graphic bits of torture though they were mentioned in _Home_. I chose to leave those out of this and only depict the beginning and end of his captivity.  
**Fic in a barrel prompts:** socks, anger, music, cornfield.

* * *

Music notes. 

As Rodney came too he was vaguely aware of music notes, not in any order he knew nor any style he recognized, drifting to him. It was hot too and his eyes felt like they were sewn closed. Rodney panicked a bit then, fearful that he'd been blinded in the blast. But after he'd rubbed both eyes to remove the light crust that'd appeared there, the lids popped open quickly.

It was night. And Rodney McKay was alone in the middle of a thick cornfield.

He leapt to his feet; the music had stopped and only a tad hysterical, Rodney ran through the tall yellow stalks until he managed to get a grip on himself. If he continued running, then his team wasn't going to find him.

Then again, they'd been running full speed back to the gate; John and Stackhouse had been jumping through the puddle and the last thing he remembered, was Teyla's back as she yelled, "Come on!" Her voice had been strong and thick even as she sped toward her destination.

The blast had come at that moment; Teyla's words drown out by the noise. Dirt and debris had clouded around him and his world had turned to black.

They'd left him behind. John had promised to never leave anyone behind and yet Rodney was alone. He closed his eyes as he bent his head, and after a moment, he ran for the 'gate. If he could connect to Atlantis, maybe they'd understand that he was alive – he had no IDC. That was Stackhouse's job since Ford was no longer on the team.

Only he never made it to the Stargate, where the MALP was sitting. He never heard John yelling his name through the speaker, because someone had grabbed him from behind. Rodney struggled against his attacker and earned himself a crack to the back of the head. It hurt and threw him off balance, causing his step to falter.

A person spoke but he couldn't determine gender nor familiarity. They bent closer to his face and Rodney spat on the blurry figure.

He was kicked hard for that, something snapping in his side but he absolutely refused to scream with the pain. Rodney knew he was a prisoner now, a POW in a war he'd had no part of; he prepared in that instant to resist them. Even if it meant death was his fate, Rodney knew he had to protect Atlantis.

Another kick, in the same spot, and fuck. Something was broken. There was the sound of metal on metal and he saw the blade of the knife as it was put to his skin.

When had his jacket come off? One of the two people, both of whom where much more defined now that his vision had cleared, asked him where John had gone in thickly accented, broken English.

He sealed his lips and steeled himself for the first cut. It wasn't as painful as he'd expected but it stung as the knife was removed from his skin. His own blood dripped into the dirt, forming a small puddle beneath his forearm.

They asked again. The second cut hurt more but Rodney was resolute.

It was several months later that he realized they'd not really cared where _John_ had gone. The men had been more concerned where they could get the weapons the team had. They wanted the P90s and the bullets.

As he lifted rocks and dirt from the quarry, he wish they'd killed him that day in the cornfield. It would have saved him from the existence he had been left with.

Each day Rodney was released from his cell to perform work for his captors. Sometimes it was hard labor mining with others for a metal only found yards below the surface and others, he was brought into a chamber and ordered to create weapons. He'd only once tried to tell them he couldn't make an assault rifle or a semi-automatic anything.

In between, he was beaten and starved and slept on the cold floor of the cell. The cot they'd given him was a draw for spiders, bees, and other insects that came in through his barred window. It was no more safe on the floor but he told himself that it was, even as he suffered through an illness brought on by the poor conditions and the rain that came through the window some nights.

He glanced over at the young boy beside him, a kid they'd nabbed from some other world just a month before and shoved into the cell beside Rodney's. His name was anyone's guess – the child was mute, but he could draw and his cell walls were covered in pictures of family. Two girls, a boy, a set of parents. Himself. A sky and clouds, a lush valley with a healthy river. Pictures of a homeland he'd likely never see again.

Sometimes they denied the kid food while Rodney would receive something. Those in charge evidently understood that he needed to eat or he would become quite ill and he each night he'd get a bowl of gruel or thin soup. On the nights the boy got nothing, Rodney would eat two bites of his and through the bars, he'd feed the rest to the boy. The night before had been one of those nights and Rodney could feel that he should have, perhaps, had a bit more than he had.

"You need a name." He mumbled when he looked back to his work. John would have complained about naming people who already had names; he would have found a way to understand the kid.

A finger came to his hand and letters were traced out. Ancient letters and he whispered, "Jairus? You're name is Jairus?" One more sideways glance to see the kid nod.

They both returned to their work; Rodney had spoken his name enough times that the kid... No, _Jairus_ had to know what his name was. He sighed and thought about John, wishing he could show his lover that he could get along with kids. John would probably point out that Jairus wasn't really a kid. After all, he looked to be about sixteen years old.

A bell was rung behind them and the two turned from the wall and wiped the sweat from their brows. The sun was particularly hot today and Rodney would have given his left arm for some sunscreen.

Food was passed out by angry looking men, women ladling whatever it was into the bowls they handed to the men.

It was a stew. This was something they hadn't had before. A thick stew with vegetables and nuts with a bit of meat here and there. Rodney and Jairus watched others eat as they were handed their own and each dove in with gusto. It was a wonderful texture and it reminded Rodney of Atlantis.

These were foods from his home, it struck him. God, what had happened? He set the bowl down on the ground and stared at it, stopping himself from throwing it away. No matter what happened, he had to eat and he forced himself to take a spoonful of the stew.

Closing his eyes, he tasted home in his mouth. Memories replaced the vegetables and he swore he was eating a meatloaf MRE. He remembered John making it for him the night before they were attacked. Stackhouse and Teyla had gone to bed and alone, the two men had indulged themselves a little. There had been nothing more than kisses then but it ended in their tent, Rodney's head on John's shoulder as they slept.

He stopped his thoughts. Tears were gathering and he couldn't let them. He was going to get home whether or not Atlantis wanted him back. He wanted his bed and Rodney wanted John to hold on to him, call him stupid nicknames. He wanted to bring Jairus with him, too.

Finishing off the bowl, reality struck Rodney and he realized that no, none of what he'd eaten had been from Atlantis and he let the wooden spoon slap against the sides of the bowl.

It was time to return to work.

That night as he tore a bit of fabric from his dirty clothing to sop up the blood coming from his fingers, Jairus tapped on the bars. He pointed to a small drawing, new, near the door. It was drawn in white from a paste the kid made out of water and crushed rock and it was clear who was depicted. Jairus had drawn himself beside a thin male figure. It was different from the picture of Jairus' father and Rodney knew it was of him.

Rodney smiled weakly. A loud noise began down the hall and Rodney figured the guards were deciding who they were going to beat in the middle of the cells, a demonstration of their power. As if they really ever made a choice – Rodney was their favorite because he did not cry, he did not scream, nor did he even act as if he were being beaten. Rodney had taught himself to quell the anger in his bones and simply lay still. And many of the others were doing the same.

Passive resistance was a powerful thing and Rodney hoped he wasn't leading them all to slaughter.

When the banging stopped outside the kid's cell though, Rodney thought his heart had stopped. He flew at the bars, making a ruckus as they dragged Jairus away and he screamed and shouted for the men to take him instead. He prayed to gods he didn't believe in and thought of John as he always did – John would do the same. He had to be strong.

Grinning like the mad men they were, the guards threw Jairus back into his cell and for the first time, Rodney let out a few meek yells as he was hit with fists; he was kicked and a stick came from somewhere though Rodney wasn't sure where.

He was dragged back to his cell when they were done and murmurs went from cell to cell. Rodney caught some words, 'broken', 'tired'. And when the coldness of the stone floor hit him he choked in air. His chest hurt, his wrist felt broken, and there was blood seeping from bruised cuts all over his body.

Turning his head, Rodney looked at Jairus, who was looking dully through the bars at him, "We have to get out of here, kid." Closing his eyes against the pain and clutching his stomach, Rodney began to formulate a plan in his head. That morning had marked the end of his sixth month there.

He refused to go six more.

There had to be a way out of the complex. They were lead through the darkened passage ways to be brought to the quarry, blindfolded, but Rodney knew he could figure it out. Still, who knew what their captors could have planned to keep an insurgency down. A better idea would be to have an uprising in the quarry. There was no where to go but up in the open air; ladders were all over. There were no guns used to keep them working, only knives and swords.

He didn't sleep even when the cells were pitched into darkness with the night. Rodney contemplated his problem, his nature for solving puzzles coming out after months being kept quiet. Oh, he'd had these ideas before but they'd been hurried and brought out by fear. Now, knowing what each day would likely bring, he could think of things without worrying that he' d be dead before his plan could would. He could factor in all variables and think of it from all the angles.

For three days, that's exactly what Rodney did, taking only a few minutes from his plans when they decided that it was time to shove him in a room and demand weapons like his team had had. He made a big show of making something, really he was just strip off bits of the metal and the minute the guards were satisfied that he was doing what he'd been told, Rodney slid the shards into a pocket he'd made by picking at a loose thread on the inside of his shirt. The space between the two pieces of fabric made a good place to hide things.

He easily shoved thirty or so shards there and shred up more before the guards returned. He'd done nothing but waste the metal in their eyes and was beaten summarily for it, but they never discovered his prize.

The next day when the night had descended and the guards were gone until daylight, Rodney took his own shard and hid it in his pillow. He told Jairus to do the same and then his shirt was weaved through the bars of cells, handed around stone walls to reach others and when it was returned to him, it was empty of metal.

Things were muttered, questions asked, and Rodney told them they had to wait just a bit longer.

But the guards weren't as stupid as they looked and they knew something was up. Someone was suddenly there during the night, making it difficult for Rodney to inform the others of his final plan.

He managed it though. On bits of cloth, he wrote in his own blood. Rodney made Jairus look away as he pricked numb and infected fingers to get the blood he needed. He used a thin straw as a pen, his writing tired yet legible. He thought of John as he did so; thinking of what John would do to soothe the pain in his fingers when he got home.

Passing the notes carefully, everyone was informed of the plan and if possible, assigned one of the younger prisoners. He wasn't going to leave anyone behind, not like he'd been.

A few more days to make it seem like the increased beatings and the reduction in food had broken them all again, and Rodney was standing in the work yard. The old quarry had been shut down after the leaders realized there was no more metal to be found.

It was a move in their favor since they no longer had to worry about getting out of the pit. The prisoners had a clear run to the woods. Rodney had determined that using the metal shards for defensive purposes, they could storm the gate and get everyone off the planet. A certain world had been picked from the pool of the prisoners' homes and everyone would be going there.

Including Rodney.

After much thought and consideration, Rodney knew there had to be a way to make Atlantis' computer systems stop from putting up the shield from outside the city. He hoped that once he was away from the violent world, he could look at another DHD and figure it out. It would take awhile, surely, but he'd not have to worry about beatings and food or about Jairus since it was Jairus' home world they'd chosen.

For a few hours they worked, appearing as they normally did. Then the meal bell came and the prisoners were on the move. Screams and fighting and it was much more chaotic than Rodney had expected. Several guards and prisoners laid dead behind them and though he wanted to bring the bodies with them, Rodney knew they had to be left.

It stole his breath to do so, but Jairus was pulling on Rodney's arm and holding his bloody shard in the other hand tightly. Together the two made their way to the front of the running crowd, making it through the cornfield to the 'gate without much trouble. The guards hadn't gotten there yet but Rodney knew it was a matter of time.

His sock-clad feet slapped the dirt as Rodney scrambled to the DHD, slapping chevrons when he heard the battle begin at his back. More chaos and the wormhole blossomed as someone slammed into him. Rodney felt moisture on his back and he hurriedly shifted until he could see who was hurt.

Jairus was bleeding heavily. When Rodney had time later to ask, he would be told that Jairus had taken out the guard who'd injured him. At the moment, however, Rodney lifted his newest friend onto his back and ran. Everyone followed.

The people of Jairus' village were waiting, surprised to see the boy returned and after some fast talking, they helped cut down the few guards who'd followed the surviving prisoners into the puddle. He'd followed Jairus' limp form as far as he could before people jumped in front of him to keep him from continuing into their healers home.

"He'll be taken care of." A teary woman told him in thick Ancient and he knew as he looked at her that she was the boy's mother, "They will do what they can."

Rodney didn't see Jairus again. No one told him if the boy had lived or died, but after three continuous nights and days examining the DHD, he'd figured it out. He was going home and all his energy was focused on that goal. He had no time to think of the boy and it was only as he slipped off his torn and blackened socks that he thought about the villagers.

He promised himself that he would return. Soon he would return and hopefully they could become allies.

Choking on his breath, he pressed the chevrons in order; he felt the tear track down his cheek as he thought of his home. He thought of John again and the smile he'd missed for seven months.

Pressing the blue crystal and another chevron at the same time, the puddle appeared. It glowed and shimmied.

He licked his lips, closed his eyes, and Rodney didn't look back with but one thought on his mind.

_Home_.


End file.
